


Sorting Remnants

by girlintheglen



Series: Illya's Days of April [7]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 22:24:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11389638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlintheglen/pseuds/girlintheglen





	Sorting Remnants

At the far end of the space that was serving as Illya and April’s new ‘home’ was the promised work space.  It had the only wall in the entire flat, separating it from the living space.  Inside were two sewing machines and one large cutting table.  One wall was upholstered and served as an oversized bulletin board.  Illya had already placed some of his sketches on that wall, and as he examined them once more he was satisfied that he was capturing some of the new Mod attitude so prevalent in British fashion.

 

A cat had wandered into the flat in the early morning as Illya opened the door to collect a bottle of milk left on the small stoop.  He spoke to it in endearing tones, eliciting a small mewing sound from the ebony colored feline.

 

Illya thought that April was a bit like a cat; lithe and playful.  A sigh of resignation from the faux designer was not heard by anyone save the cat, who rubbed affectionately against the man’s legs as she begged for a morning meal.

 

 

April had gone out on a fishing expedition hoping to garner the attention of their subject, Daryl Mulrooney.  If his Monkey House label was a cover for a THRUSH operation then she and Illya needed to infiltrate and get to the core of its intention.  If Mulroony was merely a pawn in some scheme to which he was not yet aware, then for his sake it was necessary to get him clear of the trouble that was most certainly coming.

 

Dressed in a lime green sheath that was a good three inches above her knees, tights of the same hue and purple flats, April looked every inch the fashionable girl about town.  Her auburn hair turned up in a perfect flip and a pair of false eyelashes gave her that London look.  She had opted for a pale pink lipstick and large purple hoop earrings.  All in all, she looked fab.

 

In her portfolio were some copies of Illya’s sketches, most of them surprisingly, to April’s practiced eye, worthy of attention.  The man never ceased to amaze the girl from UNCLE, and she wondered how many other hidden talents he might possess.

 

The cab pulled up in front of a white brick building that sported a large sign with an artist’s rendering of the fabled three monkeys in the classic pose for Hear no evil, See no evil, Speak no evil.  What an odd logo for a design house, but then if THRUSH were involved the presence of birds would have been clearly visible.  Perhaps Mr. Mulrooney was an innocent after all.

 

April ascended the short set of steps and knocked on the large red door.  The door knocker was the face of a monkey, another nod to the Monkey House and its rather peculiar sense of humor.  Then again, this was London and it was swinging.  April laughed at her own little joke as the door was opening, surprising her and the man she now faced.

 

“Oh, hello.  My name is April Dancer, and I believe you are expecting me.”  She hadn’t expected to be met at the door by Daryl Mulrooney, but here he was.  Tall and rakishly good looking, Mulrooney smiled at the pert redhead in the lime green dress, and April felt her stomach lurch a little with something like butterflies.

 

“Hello, yes I’ve been expecting you.  Please, come in, and don’t mind the mess.  My head seamstress scattered sequins all over the floor last night and I’ve had a devil of a time trying to find all of them.”  April was charmed immediately, and hoped that she wasn’t going to find out that Daryl Mulrooney was affiliated with THRUSH.

 

“Well, I suppose there are worse things that being all sparkly.’ She smiled and looked around the room.  The reception area was done in a tasteful version of the latest trends in plastic and vinyl.  Something that resembled an Eames chair, but wasn’t, blue vinyl with white piping... it was a maze of color and shapes.

 

“I suppose you know that I’m hoping to show you some sketches made by my.. um... my husband, Illya.  He’s a very talented designer and a great admirer of your work.”

 

Mulrooney crinkled his brow at the mention of Illya’s name.

 

“I knew a fellow named Illya.  We were at Cambridge together, Russian as I recall.  Kuryakin...” He opened the portfolio and looked at the name that embellished the first sketch, then at April.

 

“Yes, that would be Illya.  I guess the two of you have each traveled pretty far from the science labs you once shared.”  April knew that she at least had his curiosity piqued enough to be invited in for a longer conversation.

 

When April returned to the flat she was now officially sharing with the Russian she found him instructing two women on how to finish the seam on a hot pink mini skirt.

 

“Don’t tell me he knows how to sew.”  April was. as the she had heard one girl say, gobsmacked at the sight of agent Kuryakin sitting at an industrial sewing machine while the two young women looked on in deep concentration.

 

“Ahem... excuse me, but do you think you have time for a break Illya?”  April was grinning at the sight of the blond, tape measures draped around his neck as he looked up at his pretty ‘wife’.

 

“Oh, yes, most definitely time for a break.’ He asked the seamstresses if they were clear on his instructions and then excused himself.  As the two women watched Illya make his way towards the pretty girl in the doorway, April realized they would be expecting the couple to act as though they were, indeed, married.  When Illya got within reach she put her arms around his neck and whispered something in his ear.  Never slow to take a cue, Illya circled her waist with his hands and pulled her into a kiss that left April’s knees quivering like jell-o.

 

“Oh, darling... hmm... I’m so glad to see you too.”  She thought her voice sounded silly, not at all like the tough UNCLE agent she was supposed to be.  Illya simply moved her out through the doorway and into their living quarters, closing the door behind them.

 

The kiss had impacted Illya as well.  If it weren’t for the two women in the sewing room he might have  picked April up and swept her onto the bed, ignoring every sensible protocol ever conceived by the powers that be in the Command.

 

Lust and attraction were more dangerous than any THRUSH plot ever launched against him.

 

April regained her equilibrium and started a recitation of her meeting with Daryl Mulrooney.  She was impressed with the designer, not at all convinced that he was cooperating in any way with THRUSH.

 

“He just didn’t seem to be...”

 

“The type?”  Illya put it so bluntly that April was taken aback by it.

 

“Well, yeah.  I mean, my instincts are pretty good where people are concerned and...”

 

Illya didn’t want to argue about it, but he remembered Mulrooney as an arrogant, egotistical man who had made it very clear that he intended to find a position of power and influence in the world.  If physics hadn’t taken him there then Illya felt certain he had found something else to help him achieve that.  The question now was whether or not he was achieving it through THRUSH, or if Monkey House was exactly what it appeared to be: a fashion house.

 

“We shall find out whether your instincts are as good as you think they are, April.’ he kissed her again, just for good measure and to quell any ruffled feelings.

 

“Now, what did he think of my sketches.  Do I have a future in the design business.”  Illya was smiling now, cajoling April out of any defensiveness that may have developed from his rebuttal of her opinion of Mulrooney.  Judging from the slight flush on her cheeks, it was working.

 

“Oh, right... well, he was impressed.  He especially liked the yellow dress and expressed an interest in adding it to the Monkey House line.  I’m rather impressed with his business; he’s gained quite a market in a very short time.” Illya thought he sensed something from April that came as a surprise; she liked Daryl Mulrooney.

 

“I see...’ Another surprise.  Illya was jealous.

 

“So, did you two arrange for us to meet?  I believe I should get into that shop, take a look around...”  Make his own judgement about Daryl Mulrooney.

 

“Yes, we have an appointment tomorrow morning at nine o’clock.  Illya...’ April was kicking off her shoes now, settling into an upholstered chair opposite the bed,

 

“Were you and Daryl Mulrooney friends?”

 

The question took Illya back in time and his expression betrayed something for a split second only, but enough that April caught it. She hadn’t intended to bring up something hurtful.  A small shake of his head was the response.

 

“No, our social status was literally worlds apart.  Why do you ask?”  Should he care?  Was April interested in Daryl, had he misinterpreted everything?

 

One of the seamstresses poked her head out the door of the studio and called Illya in to inspect a garment.  When he emerged several minutes later the two women had gathered up their belongings and were ready to call it a day.  Illya told them he wouldn’t be in the studio until the day after tomorrow and paid them each for their time.  Not knowing how long this affair might last it had been determined to pay these helpers daily.

 

April watched all of this, her eyes full of the slim man she was pretending to be married to.  Illya still fascinated her, and if he didn’t fully trust Mulrooney then perhaps she shouldn’t either.

 

After shutting the door and locking it, Illya turned back towards April.  He took a deep breath and walked over to her, determined to not argue over Mulrooney, but still suspicious of the man.

 

“Do you feel like going out tonight?  We might as well be seen, don’t you think?”  April loved London, and the idea of being out on the town with the Russian held a certain appeal; besides, they needed to be seen as a real couple and clubbing was a sure way to get tongues wagging.  Illya sighed.  It was part of the job, he knew that, although it wasn’t his idea of a good time.

 

“Do we need to change?”  Resigned to it, Illya responded to April’s ‘yes’ by unbuttoning the white shirt he was wearing and heading for the wardrobe that was serving as a closet.  He dropped the shirt into a laundry bin and opened a drawer where he found a black cashmere turtleneck.  It was a far cry from the clothes he had worn while at Cambridge.  April watched all of it from beneath her thick lashes, the desire to touch him at odds with the knowledge that it would only lead to trouble.  When he popped his head through the neck of the sweater his hair was askew, prompting her to get up and try to help him straighten up a bit.

 

April came up behind him and ran her fingers through his hair like a comb; he caught her right hand in his, holding it until he could turn and face her.  It was too late now to not follow through with what he had been longing to do for days.

 

This time the kiss was deeper, more passionate.  He held her with the deftness of his mouth and tongue, exploring her until she was melting inside.  April thought they must both be losing their minds, but she couldn’t pull back, could not resist letting him have his way with her.

 

Illya picked up the woman who had taunted him with her school girl crush, had lured him into this by being at once naive and worldly, glamorous and yet innocent as a child.  He was transfixed by her, driven to complete this at any cost.  He placed her on the bed, amazed as her hair splayed out on the pillow like the petals on a flower.

 

April was breathing fast and thinking harder than she had for some time.  As much as she had wanted this...

 

“Illya?  What are we doing?  Are you sure you want this, want me?”  She was doubting herself, scolding herself for having dreamt of this man, of this moment.  Her career and his might be at stake.  Would this really be worth losing all that she had worked for?

 

That stopped him.  She saw the look in his eyes, of disappointment, retreat... He stood up and turned away from her as he sat on the bed and stared straight ahead into something only he could see.

 

“Of course you are right, April.  I... I apologize.  It was inappropriate of me to ... “  No, that wasn’t the reaction she wanted.  It wasn’t his fault, she had been the one all along...

 

“Illya, our professional lives always come first in this business.  I think I’ve at least learned that.  I couldn’t let myself be responsible for ruining your standing with UNCLE.”

 

The silence was deafening, but then Illya stood up and turned to face her, a small smile on his face.

 

“Did you mention going out tonight?  I think that is exactly what we both need.  See, I’m already dressed.  What will you wear?”  He needed to get out, to be with a crowd of people and lose himself, just a little.

 

“Yes, just.. just give me a few minutes and I’ll change.  Illya?’  April wondered if she would live to regret what had just happened.

 

“It doesn’t mean I didn’t want to.”  He sighed, taking a deep breath that seemed to move his entire body.

 

“I know.  Now, get dressed.  We have an image to maintain.”

 

April rummaged her wardrobe looking for just the right dress to wear, and decided on a silk number that was described as a bubble dress.  Exposing her shoulders, it flowed out into a swirling mass of pink and yellow that made her easy to find among a room full of London swingers.  Illya found the sight of her in it intoxicating, one more reason to not be alone with her tonight.

 

The evening turned out to be more than just a way to let off some tension.  At the second place they went into Illya and April ran into Daryl Mulrooney and a girl he introduced as his muse, Angelica.  The four of them danced and drank, then made the rounds of two other clubs before calling it a night.  Daryl and Illya laughed about Cambridge and how far they had come from those serious physics students.  The absolute insanity of them both ending up in fashion was not lost on anyone, and Angelica especially seemed to be engrossed in the story of how Illya had rediscovered his love for the trade he had first seen up close during his days in Paris.

 

April watched the model/muse very closely and finally, as Illya drank vodka and told outrageous stories about Russia, she had decided that it was Angelica who was THRUSH, and not Daryl.  It made perfect sense and she was anxious to get back to the flat and tell Illya her theories.

 

When finally the night was over and the locks all set in place, Illya was on the verge of being drunk.  Not quite, not on vodka, but he was a little more tipsy than April had ever seen the usually composed agent.  Once more he headed into the shower first, leaving her to ready things for her turn in the bathroom.

 

Illya emerged wrapped only in a towel.  The summer had been unusually warm in England, and this night was no exception.  Full of alcohol, the Russian was not ready to put on the full regiment of night wear that would have been deemed acceptable to anyone aware of the current situation.

 

April excused herself and went into the bathroom for her shower.  By the time she was finished Illya had once again fallen asleep before she could get into bed.  Just as well, she figured it was safer that way.  She did notice that he had decided to not wear the pajama top from the night before.

 

“Oh well, it is warm in here.”  She was dressed in a gown that was lightweight, modest enough to pass inspection she supposed.  It didn’t matter, Illya looked like he was out cold... maybe in more ways than one.

 

April turned out the last light, confident of the security here; the flat upstairs was occupied by Section III agents who were assigned to make sure nothing bad happened to the couple downstairs.  She pulled back the covers and slid into bed, never noticing Illya’s towel lying on top of the coverlet.


End file.
